Heart Is More Resilient Than We Realise
by Freud-Plato-SisterMonicaJoan
Summary: The Turner family expects a baby but has to meet some challenges and solve some problems. A sequel story to Things Time Erases, based on episodes 6.3. and 6.4., slightly AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1. Tender hands and hearts**

In the days after sharing the news about the pregnancy, there was a feeling of relief in the Turner family. The initial anxiety was kept at bay. Even Sister Winifred, who visited to take Shelagh's blood pressure was beaming. She called Mrs Turner "our own mother-to-be".

Then the situation with Sister Ursula started to give unease. Shelagh was deep in her thoughts walking home and would have passed the school yard not noticing anything, if it wasn't for that laugh. Her own girl's, Angela's laugh.

She saw Tim and a brown-haired girl sitting in the swings at the playground, with Angela in a push chair. They seemed to be having a cosy time. Shelagh decided to pass them. Something in the position of Tim's head tilting towards the strange girl prevented her from interrupting their time together.

Not long after she had come home, Tim and Angela arrived. Shelagh took Angela in her lap: "Did Mummy's girl have a nice day?" Then she turned to Tim: "It's good that you are back. Mrs Penney has left already. You can change my bandage."

Tim shrugged. "Okay, I guess."

They sat at the kitchen table for that. The disinfectant bristled on Shelagh's hand. "Do you remember the one time you had hurt your hand in the school yard?" she asked from Tim.

"Vaguely. I recall you bandaged it then." He kept a pause. ""Or Sister Bernadette. Sometimes I find it easy to think of you as the same person as her, and sometimes you seem like two different persons."

Shelagh raised her eyebrows, diverted. "That is interesting. I often feel the same myself." She put the bandages away. "Thank you for taking Angela with you so that Mrs Penney could finish the laundry. Incidentally, I saw you sitting in the playground today. But as you had company, I didn't come to fetch Angela."

"Did you?" Tim coughed a little. "It was Susan Parkin. She is the sister of Ben, my classmate."

"Oh yes, I remember you speaking about a Susan. From the chemistry club."

"They both are in the chemistry club. There are some girls from St Lawrence in the club. It is…." - he stammered with the word - "co-educational"-

"Co-educational is good. Prepares you for the life with women."

"Mum, are you trying to say something?"

"Only that I hope you have a good friendship with both boys and girls. I have a lot of experience with female support, in the Sisterhood. But now I live with men, and Angela."

There was a gentle air of encouragement, mixed with wistfulness in Shelagh's voice. It made Tim swallow any impertinent, snarky response. Instead he said, still trying to find his balance, "It is good to be out with Angela. Girls are very interested in her." He smirked with some self-satisfaction.

"Yes, Tim. That was exactly what brought to my mind the encounter we had so many years ago, your hurt hand and Sister Bernadette. I was interested in that little boy. Fortunately this young man that I am mother to now resembles him quite a lot."

"Mum, for a former Nun, you have some extraordinary trains of thought," Timothy laughed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2. The haunting Parkins.**

Shelagh wasn't really listening. It was just that she couldn't help hearing. She was in the maternity home hall on her way home after cleaning the sluice. The door to the ward was open to the hall and the women at visiting hour didn't exactly make any effort to keep their voices down.

She heard her own name mentioned, and had to stop. Not again gambling about the baby? She shook her head, smiling uncertainly, then her smile froze.

"Babies here, babies there, even one for the Turners," a woman visitor said. "I sometimes wonder what Sister Evangelina would have made of it. In public, she was always very correct about the Turners, bless her soul."

"Doctor Turner was always, and still is, such a considerate doctor. Mrs Turner is a very nice woman. I don't think there is anything to be made out of it," Mrs Collier said, with some spark.

"But there is a downside in being so considerate." Another woman was now speaking. "He is said to be quite nervy, you know. He's had those…. spells of exhaustion. I wonder if Doctor Turner is having a treatment of some sort, in that psychiatric hospital, Northfield. It was my Bert who saw him at Northfield last week. Bert was delivering new furniture to that nut house."

"That can't be true. Surely Doctor was there in a professional capacity," Mrs Collier insisted.

"Maybe. Maybe not."

Shelagh felt betrayed. She retreated to the sluice and slumped down on a chair. The gamble on her being pregnant - even if it had sounded frivolous, the congratulations had seemed sincere and heartfelt. Mrs Collier can't guarantee her relatives' or neighbours' opinion, it seemed.

Rapid steps were clattering in the hall now. "Come on ladies, the visiting hour is over. Surely you should go home to make tea." Barbara sounded professional and firm.

"Oh, so we should, Nurse Gilbert. Well, Katie, I suppose we will see you at home in a few days. Goodbye."

"Goodbye Mrs. Archer. Goodbye Mrs. Parkin." Barbara's voice had a chilly quality. Shelagh recoiled at the name. Mrs Parkin. She surely wasn't Susan and Ben's mother?

She saw Barbara walking by the sluice in the hall. She didn't notice her, sitting there with flushed face. When she returned a moment later, she saw her.

"Oh, Shelagh, you're still here. Go home." Then Barbara winced, noticing Shelagh's unease. "Oh dear. You heard." She came to sit by her and took her hand. "Chin up, Shelagh. Find your backbone. "

Shelagh smiled at her, Barbara's concern and kindness so evident in display.

"Barbara, you have become very apt at finding the right Poplar phrases. I've heard worse gossip. I suppose… I will go home. "Shelagh rose. "All the same, it was good that Patrick could drive Sister Mary Cynthia to Northfield himself." She pursed her lips together. "But no good deed seems to go unpunished. "

Barbara watched her helplessly. They had been so relieved that Sister Ursula and Sister Jesu Emmanuelle had agreed to Cynthia's treatment at Northfield, and so grateful for Doctor Turner's help.

At the door Shelagh turned and asked a hesitant question: "Do you know Mrs Parkin?"

"I know her by name. Not a patient of mine. Shelagh, let it go."

"I will. Thank you, Barbara."

It had been a long time since Shelagh had heard gossiping about Patrick or her. On one or two occasions during her engagement, she had felt that people swiftly changed the topic when she had stepped in a shop or a post office, but never before had she heard people talking of Patrick in this way.

The following day, Shelagh was walking in the street and saw something that made her think of sorrows coming in battalions, not in single spies. On the other side of street, a pair of teenagers were walking, holding hands. Jack Smith waved his free hand: "Hello, Mrs Turner." He sounded casual. The girl with him was Susan Parkin.

Shelagh hoped the Parkins would stop haunting her and Timothy. "Oh, let's hope there is no heartbreak imminent because of this," she prayed.

Shelagh felt that she needed a few days of thinking over these events. She wanted to talk with Patrick about them – but not yet.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3. Throwing darts.**

At the entrance of their home, Shelagh nearly collided with Timothy.

"Tim, where are you going?"

"OUT!" he shot angrily.

"Tim, can you go and fetch Angela from Granny Parker's? Mrs. Penney left her there in the afternoon, she had an emergency dentist appointment."

Tim was already quite far in the street, but he turned and grunted: "Yes, I suppose I can."

"Thank you."

Shelagh met a confused Patrick in the hall.

"What was that about?" she queried.

"Oh, I don't know, exactly. I challenged him to a game of darts at the surgery reception hall. He lost a game and became grumpy. I'm afraid I tried some poor Dad-jokes."

"Patrick, I hope you didn't scratch the surgery doors and walls with darts with the inspection coming and all!" They weren't yet sure about how the fate of maternity home would turn out, and it was stressful.

"No, Mummy, we've been good and used an old school chart of human anatomy under the dartboard." He pulled her into his arms and whispered to her hair "Oh, Mummy, I love to have you back. I worry when you leave home."

Shelagh sighed. Although she loved the undertones of "Mummy" and he was so happy about the coming baby , she felt it was somehow ominous. But she felt she had no safer place than in his arms. His hands were stroking her shoulders and back.

She however felt that this was the moment for a discussion. "Patrick, I wonder if you understand the deeper sense of the darts sessions?"

He released her and took off her coat and hang it up, and then carried the groceries to the kitchen. "Sure I do. It is preparation for pub nights, an important ritual of manhood. Shelagh, you should not be carrying heavy bags. "

Patrick was blabbering and Shelagh wanted to alert him. "Patrick, you should listen to what I am about to say. "

Patrick stopped and frowned. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

Shelagh took a seat at the kitchen table. She let out a sigh of relief. It was good to not be on her feet, she admitted to herself. But better not let Patrick see that right now. Something in this moment reminded her of Sister Bernadette trying to navigate with the lonely, overworked Dr Turner and the sometimes lost boy, Timothy. She also recalled the night she was waiting for the fraught Patrick to arrive home after the misdiagnosis of the Prendergast baby. _Not yet. Not all the baggage. I will go slowly._

Patrick sat down, too, his manner now subdued and attentive.

"Patrick, have you ever….do you have any idea….", Shelagh was struggling a little. Patrick waited patiently. "Does Timothy have any knowledge of your nervous breakdown after the war?" There. Now she had said it. She felt she knew the answer beforehand. But it was better to hear it from himself.

Patrick turned his eyes to the table. "No. I don't think so. He may have some assumptions, being the instinctive child he is. The incidents -the difficulties you and I experienced in the last years, they are for him to speculate." He raised his sombre eyes and regarded Shelagh. "It isn't something to be discussed with children. Isn't it a good thing that he does not know? "

He used to be so certain of boundaries. Living with Shelagh had sometimes moved these boundaries. Surely, he wasn't wrong again? Patrick mused In his head.

Shelagh put her hand on his. How sinewy, old and bony his hands looked, she thought. They looked older than his years. Yet their common journey had been a learning curve, and he had shown a resilient and ever-rejuvenating spirit. "Maybe. I am not sure about that myself, Patrick. Certainly, it was important to make him feel safe and cared for. What he does not know does not hurt him, and so on. But don't you think that now that he's near-sixteen, the areas of life to have man-to-man talks about have widened? Needs change when a child grows. "

Patrick looked a little muddled, like he was hard trying to comprehend what she said.

"I am only saying, I think he sometimes needs more emotional support than mere dart-throwing. His idea may be to get to speak with you. Not just learn a familiar ritual."

"You may have something in there, "Patrick pondered. "You know how hard it is for ,me sometimes to…contact. "

"And yet how easy and comfortable and respectful you can be, despite of that. I have a good reason to know that, as a former Sister Bernadette. Use your sensibilities in the same way with Tim as you did with me. You let me find my own way out of the wilderness."

Patrick put his arm around her waist. "It isn't exactly the same. I can't use my romantic prose in letters to imply…. things. "His smile was a mix of wistfulness and mischief. Shelagh leaned on him a bit deeper.

He let out a breath. "I think I see what you mean. Do you really think he's worrying about me, in the midst of the expectation of this baby, and after all the tumult we've had these last two years?"

"No Patrick, I don't know for sure what he thinks. It is just that his moods are unpredictable, and although he is talkative, he may leave some issues out. He was speaking of Angela's birth mother again a few weeks ago, in the context of Matthias and Abel letter. "

"Oh."

"Yes, and we talked a little about Marianne, too. It may be a little about this and a little about that. You know, about the Susans, Marys, Carolines, all the girls we hear about." Shelagh wasn't sure how far she could go on hinting. She hoped to leave it to Tim to disclose as much or as little as he wanted about the issues concerning him – and she didn't really know how seriously Tim took this Parkin girl.

Patricks eyebrows rose, there was melancholy irony is his voice. "I sometimes secretly wonder what Marianne would have made of our son's budding role as a Poplar Romeo." He reached out for Shelagh's hand again. "It is good that I had that very medical man-to-man talk about procreation with Tim before we got pregnant. "

Shelagh smirked. "Yes indeed. Your blushes were saved. "

Patrick started to guffaw. Shelagh rose and started to put pans and pots on the cooker. "We'd better start making dinner. "


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4. The Full Opus of Sister Bernadette's Letters**

Patrick arrived home to find somewhat aggravated Shelagh there. He asked what the matter was.

"Oh, Tim had one of his moods again. He darted out the minute I got home. He stated 'Good, this wretched babysitting is now over.' I wanted to know if Angela had given him trouble, but he refused to say."

Patrick gave her a hug. "Teenage angst, probably." Shelagh admitted that it must be that. "I am too touchy," she sighed.

"You're pregnant and allowed to be touchy." He kissed her forehead, released her and sat down at the kitchen table. "I hope I can help you more. Today I spoke with Sister Ursula about your condition and how you're spread too thin. She seemed to take some notice of you being an elderly primigravida, with a history of tuberculosis."

Shelagh pursed her lips tight. "Patrick, I hate that the Sisters will be burdened because of my pregnancy."

Patrick frowned. "Sister Ursula seemed to take it well. She, herself, promised to take part in the rota of nurses. As she is fit and well, it seems a reasonable solution."

Shelagh drew a breath. "But Patrick that is not what a Sister-In-Charge should do."

"But didn't Sister Julienne take part in the rota?"

"Yes, she did, and from what I've heard, she has been recently blamed for not concentrating on administrative duties. I hope we will not take down the entire Nonnatus House practice. I feel like it is my fault again." Shelagh seemed wrought indeed.

Patrick was slightly alarmed. "Your fault? Are you still feeling guilty for leaving Nonnatus House?" He knew he should tread carefully on this topic, but he felt a bit hurt.

Shelagh took his hand. "Oh darling, I didn't mean to say it so harshly. The hormones make me feel everything so deeply." Patrick rose and put his arm around her and swayed her a little. How little he could do to help her find her way with these new parameters, and how far they had come after meeting on the misty road. Sometimes he felt he still navigated like a blind man when it came to Shelagh's past as a Sister.

Shelagh's voice was a little teary when she explained in a low voice, "Somehow being pregnant makes me more conscious of all the women I have been. a nurse and a nun. It isn't that this motherhood isn't right for me, it is. I know no one thinks I insulted the Sisterhood by being pregnant, but there are some residuals of responsibility of a Nun in me. It has caught me up lately considering how my responsibilities have changed. I think of Angela, too, we have a special responsibility to her."

Patrick squeezed her. "Yes, but you're not carrying these responsibilities alone, remember that." He sat down and pulled her to sit in his lap.

Patrick sighed, "We all seem to be at odds with each other lately. Happiness seems elusive."

"Happiness fluctuates, love is everlasting," Shelagh whispered. Patrick seemed relieved at once, and caressed her baby bump with his other hand.

His mouth twitched, "Is that phrase from the Bible?" but then he added hastily, "I am not doubting the truth of that expression!"

"It is from the book of Shelagh," Shelagh said, cuddling his head, her voice still unsteady, but with a shade of snicker in it.

"That's a good book. I believe in that," he muttered, enjoying being nuzzled.

"It's all the letters Sister Bernadette didn't write to Doctor Turner…"

Patrick chuckled, and raised his head. He looked at her with tenderness. "I would have loved to have gotten the letters, but fortunately, the full opus of those letters sits in my lap right now."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 Seeking advice**

The next day Tim had come home from school early. As Mrs Penney was still there, he decided to go out again. He passed the school yard with the playground, winced and made a mental note to find different route for walks. He came to Nonnatus House and wondered if Fred might be around there.

He found Barbara Gilbert in the Nonnatus House kitchen.

"What's up, Tim?"

"I was looking for Fred. Has he been around?"

"No, I'm afraid not. Would you like to have a cup of tea?"

Tim accepted her offer and sat down. "What are you reading, Nurse Gilbert?"

"Oh, the new schedules for home visits. I am a bit stressed over them, I must admit." Barbara pushed the tea cup and a plate of buns to Tim. "Have a raisin bun, Tim. It's a gift from a cheery Irish mother with a seventh baby in tow now."

"Seventh! That sounds like a Von Trapp family."

"Not even a record at Poplar. Weren't you in the same class at primary school with Miquel Warren? The number thirteen in the 24-strong Warren family."

"Yeah." Tim stirred the sugar in his tea.

Barbara became aware of his downtrodden appearance. "What's the matter Tim? Is something on your mind?"

"Nurse Gilbert, may I ask a question?"

"You may, Tim."

"You're good friends with Nurse Franklin," Tim stated, his baritone slightly squeaking.

"Yes, I am."

Tim seemed oddly slow, he was trying to find words. "Nurse Franklin was engaged to Reverend Hereward, before… before you two became engaged."

"Yes. That is true." A long silence ensued.

Tim coughed. "You see, there's a guy I used to be friends with. Oh, this is awkward."

"It doesn't matter. Go on," Barbara encouraged.

Barbara's unflappability seemed to brighten Tim. "It's Jack Smith. I've known him for ages. We used to be in Cubs together. Then I changed schools, and he started to work for his Dad's grocery store. I thought… well, he's now going out with a girl."

"Oh-oh." Barbara munched the bun even more diligently, but raised her eye-brows in a knowing manner. "Is there a problem with this girl?"

"Yes. I quite…fancied her. She seemed to like me, or Angela." Tim winced comically. Yet there was a sense of bitterness only the very young can feel. Barbara could relate with that.

"So, I was going to ask, how can you overcome …a situation like this? How can you do that? To continue being friends? You seem to be friends with Nurse Franklin. "

"Yes, Tim, I am friends with Nurse franklin. Let me say first that I am so sorry for you. I'd wish I could say that it's easy, but it is certainly possible to be friends, after a certain time has passed. It took some adjustment from all three us, I must say." After a pause Barbara continued, "Perhaps it is weak advice to say let time pass. I know the affairs of the heart can be painful. Yet I hope I don't sound too philosophical when I say that friendships with both boys and girls are as good as courtships."

"That is what my Mum says."

"There, she's right. I rely on Trixie often as much as I rely on Tom. "

"Sometimes I miss Jack more than Susan, because there's an issue… with Susan." There was tenseness in Tim's voice, but before he could continue, they were interrupted by Nurse Crane who arrived with speed.

"Oh, young Master Timothy, here you are. You should go home directly. Your Mum has been taken to the hospital. Your Father drove her there, and he has been trying to call you."

Tim rose at once, "What's the matter with Mum?" His voice was even tenser than before.

"Your Father will ring and explain it to you as soon as you are home. Now, go quickly."

Tim left immediately.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6. The ceramic pot.**

Patrick had arrived home after the third day of Shelagh's hospitalisation. He met Tim and Angela in the kitchen.

"I've just found a blackcurrant jelly and a tin of evap on the step," he remarked in upbeat manner which sounded forced.

"Another kindly patient must've put them there after Mrs Penney left," Tim replied. "She says there's a hotpot in the oven, and she's coming back later, for Angela's bedtime."

Patrick's quipped chirpily: "No prizes for guessing what's for pudding! "

"Dad. You don't have to pretend to be jolly all the time. You don't have to pretend that nothing's happening." There was a dose of reprimand in Tim's voice.

Patrick became subdued and continued with a bland voice: "I will tuck in some dinner, and then I go to the London."

As he prepared to eat, Tim came to the basin and started to sort out the dishes on the lower shelf.

He raised a large, brown pot. "Dad, do you know what this is? It is a ceramic pot from one of your grateful patients. The last time someone brought us food."

"We'd need to give it back. Do you remember from whom it is?"

"Yes, "Tim answered testily. "But is that the most important thing right now?".

"Tim, we should always treat our neighbours decently."

"Preachy."

"Son, I know that we all are tired and anxious, but behave, please."

"But what about how our neighbours treat us, if they are nor decent?" Tim sounded odd, and Patrick could make neither head or tails of this incongruent remark. He backed down. "Sorry, Tim, I didn't mean to be preachy."

Timothy sat down facing Patrick at the table. "Tim, let's calm down, "Patrick said. "I understand that It's only a ceramic pot. You are worried about Mum, right?"

"Dad, I know it makes sense to shield Angela but it doesn't make sense to shield me."

"I'm sorry, Tim. But we're just marking time and waiting. Nothing is certain. There may be nothing to shield you from." He felt he could not say more. There was forlornness around him. Tim's glaring eyes grew milder and he waited in silence.

"Have you done your homework?" Patrick inquired, knowing he was acting inconsequently, but could not help it.

"I do it every night when you're at the hospital, "Tim said warily. "I am eagerly waiting for pub nights. I am tired of throwing darts at home."

Patrick recalled vaguely this should be noted for some reason, but didn't remember it. In this crisis, he could not really concentrate. "Are you really? Why would a pub night be good?"

"Because perhaps you would care to talk with me there, as men do at a pub."

Patrick was startled by the intensity in his voice.

The phone rang. Patrick rose to get it. "Turner. Hello, Sister Winifred. I see. Yes, of course, I'll be there straight away. Thank you. Goodbye."

He returned to get his bag. "I have to go out to a case, son. I'm sorry." He called from the door, "Tim we shall get back to this topic." Then he was gone.

"Oh, but will we?" Timothy muttered to himself and took Angela in his lap.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7. At hospital.**

"Tim, what on earth…" Shelagh whispered, and rose carefully to the sitting position in her hospital bed.

Tim was smiling shyly and sat down by her bed. "Hush, Nurse Busby let me in. She said I look every inch a 16-year-old," he said in a low voice and grinned. "Dad was called away to a patient, so I decided to come" He had some apprehension though. "Was I right to come?"

"Yes." Shelagh sounded relieved. She reached out to him. "Give us a kiss." Tim rose to kiss her cheek swiftly and sat down again. Both of them were at loss for words for few seconds. "Is Mrs Penney with Angela?" Shelagh asked.

Tim nodded. "She's going to put her to bed." He cleared his throat a little and let his eyes wander around the ward. "I remember the green walls at the polio ward."

"Yes, they have green, light blue and odd yellowish shades here." Shelagh felt she should say something about her condition. "The situation with me is very different from you and polio. Surely your Dad has explained how things are?"

"He has told me the basics." Tim noticed her weariness, despite her brave, gentle face. "Mum, it is still…scary, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is, Tim." Shelagh found Tim's straight attitude oddly comforting. "…but let's not dwell on that... Dad told me that you are all taking care of each other. Did Mrs Penney have time to iron your trousers, son? They look wrinkled."

"Oh, Mum, we can manage… at least Angela and I do. Angela was making a card for you. Here it is." Tim took it from his pocket. Shelagh smiled at the bright colours, and heaved a sigh. Then she turned to Tim again, "Do you mean to say your father doesn't manage?"

Tim was fiddling his fingers. He turned to look at the roses and said, "Pink roses are nice." He saw the magazines. "Do you need any more reading material? I could provide books more interesting than _Woman's Realm_."

"Tim, do you want to talk about your father or not?" Shelagh asked. "I am not porcelain and I will not break over domestic issues. I still have a full-functioning brain, even though the circumstances make me look weak." She kept a pause. Tim kept his head down. "Tim, I love you and your Dad. I want to know what's on your mind."

Tim raised his head. "Dad can be so exasperating. He pretends to be jolly all the time. He will not talk with me about…." he waved his arm, "your condition, or anything. He treats me like a child."

"Yes, Tim, he can be difficult. He does not find it easy to talk of his feelings."

"But he's also a doctor. You'd think he'd find it easier to talk about this than most men."

"Timothy, does it not occur to you that that's why he can't discuss things? He knows what could happen. And so do I." Shelagh took Tim's hand. "We need all our strength to get through this. The time for talking is later. I promise I will help in that."

"Will you….?" Tim relaxed a little and leaned back in his chair. "I'm so bored with dart games that will …. result in nothing. But I should perhaps not bother you with all this."

"I'm your Mum, and it's perfectly all right that you should be bothering me. I love it that you bother me. Never stop doing it." Shelagh's eyes were glittering with satisfaction now. "But right now, you should give your Dad some slack." She kept wondering what else there might be in Tim's mind, but decided that this was not the time or place for that. "Now tell me about school…. there are still ten minutes left of the visiting hour. How was your geography test?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8. Beer talk.**

"Hello, son. Mrs Penney's gone. She told me where you were headed." Patrick's smile softened. "Thank you."

"I thought you might be angry," Tim responded, astonished.

"Some rules are worth breaking. Others, you are going to have to stick to for a while… like not going to the pub. But we can drink together at home." Patrick showed beer bottles to Timothy.

"Beer?" Tim gave an eye-roll, but let out a chuckle, too.

"To be precise, two bottles of Pale Ale and a packet of pork scratchings."

They fetched two glasses and poured beer in them.

As they sat down in the living room armchairs Patrick asked how Shelagh was.

"Good, I think. I wasn't there for long." Tim didn't expand the conversation. He tried to follow his Mum's guidance and let his Dad speak first, if he was willing.

Patrick took a sip and stared at the empty fireplace. "There is nothing else to do but wait. I know it's hard." A cloud of memories seemed to descend on both of them simultaneously… the waiting for Marianne's death. Their house had been filled with silent despair. Patrick felt a need to clarify the differences in the situation. "Tim, it is true that there is a risk of miscarriage. We will be sad if that happens, but it will not ruin us or make us go backwards. Your Mum is of tough fibre. We know how to survive."

Tim seemed to be studying him intently with a question lingering. His previous conversation with Shelagh returned to Patrick's mind. He ventured a bit further. "I am tough too, even though I may seem fragile and addled to you, sometimes. "

Tim was alert at once. "How tough are you, Dad?" he blurted out with a teenager's directness. "I recall seeing you quite fragile….some time ago." His eye-lashes flickered at the memory.

"You are referring to the exhaustion I had last summer?"

"Yes." Tim's expression remained hard to interpret.

"I have been learning how to keep that kind of helplessness at bay. I wasn't always like that. I once had a very bad period… after the war. I will tell you about it when you are a little older. "

"Why not now?"

"Because the art of survival is going forward while keeping the past in memory and you're still young enough to be spared of all the adult stuff." Tim turned his eyes towards the window, like he was hiding something.

Something dawned to Patrick as he recalled Tim's remark of neighbours being not decent. "Tim, have you heard people talking about that last summer?"

Tim gave a very small nod.

"Tim, there is hearsay and then there is the truth. The truth may be complicated and layered. What makes me tough is that I have been able to face my own vulnerability. If you hear anything else, remember this talk." Patrick felt that this was all he could manage right now, given Shelagh and the baby's crisis.

Patrick offered Tim some more beer. They sipped it in silence for a while.

"Son, does this help you at all? "

Tim nodded.

"Thank you. Your Mum reminded me that you are nearly a man now. She's so clever, cleverer than me."

Tim grunted, with a half-laugh, "You got that right, Dad."

Patrick smiled approvingly. "Let me have some proud Dad maudlin talk, son…"

Timothy groaned: "Okay, I guess."

"Although changes come, they will not all be for the worse. I see my little boy in you, even though you have grown. I always recognise you even though you change every day, every year." Tim rolled his eyes once again. "Good, the eye-roll is still there. I would miss that. Hey, isn't it great that this time we talked without the help of reversed psychology?"

"Yes Dad, I'll give you that. "


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9. The incomplete truth**

 ** _"_** ** _Seldom,_** **_very_** **_seldom,_** **_does_** **_complete_** **_truth_** **_belong_** **_to_** **_any_** **_human_** **_disclosure;_** **_seldom_** **_can_** **_it_** **_happen_** **_that something_** **_is_** **_not_** **_a_** **_little_** **_disguised,_** **_or_** **_a_** **_little_** **_mistaken;_** **_but_** **_where,_** **_as_** **_in_** **_this_** **_case,_** **_though_** **_the_** **_conduct_** **_is mistaken,_** **_the_** **_feelings_** **_are_** **_not,_** **_it_** **_may_** **_not_** **_be_** **_very_** **_material."*_**

Shelagh was resting on the sofa at home. Forced bed rest was trying for her. Patrick was adamant that she should move as little as possible. She tried to follow the recommendation, but as she felt invigorated and strong, it was difficult. "Those pesky hormones," Shelagh cursed, "first they make you miserable and then they make you over-confident." In her deepest mind she was grateful indeed that she had passed the dangerous phase. Feeling good should bode well for her and the baby. How the baby kicked! She felt twice as alive with the baby's movements confirming the life in her womb.

He heard the door slam. "Is it you, Tim?"

"Yeah." Tim arrived in the living room with letters and magazines in his hand. "Post arrived. **_Woman's Realm_** for you, **_The_** **_Lancet_** for me, letters for Dad."

Shelagh took the magazine. "Tim, would you bring me a cup of tea?"

"OK. You're to be served with care. In this, I agree with Dad."

Shelagh puffed. "I can't put up a fight against you two."

Tim brought her a cup of tea and sat down, leafing the journal.

Shelagh had seen **_The_** **_Lancets_** and **_The_** **_British_** **_Medical_** **_Journals_** of odd vintage in Tim's room. "Tim, I wonder if there is anything specific you are reading in the medical journals? I saw a pile of them in your room."

"Piles there, piles here," Tim cheerily confirmed. "Don't you think I have done a good job of trying to prompt Dad to move to a bigger house?" Despite this cheeky comment, his voice betrayed some nervousness.

Sheelagh sighed. "Yes, you have. The pile of sports equipment in the hall is especially impressive, but you are evading my question, aren't you?"

Tim kept silent for a moment. "Perhaps I should tell you." He started uneasily:"A couple of weeks ago, I overheard some girls and boys at the church hall, speaking of Dad." He gulped. "They were talking of how Dad had been…unbalanced last summer." Tim looked at Shelagh with guarded eyes: "I will not use the language they used. Unbalanced, crazy…whatever. "

Shelagh's gaze darkened with anxiety. "Tim, that must have been so unpleasant and unnerving."

"Don't worry Mum, I can take care of myself. Based on what Dad told me, that he was unwell after the war, I can pretty well guess what has happened to him. His spell of exhaustion last summer also gave me enough to work on. **_The_** **_Lancet_** and **_The_** **_British_** **_Medical_** **_Journal_** were very educating on the topic of cumulated stress and depression."

Shelagh admired the boy's cool, calm and collected take on the difficult issue, yet he was so young, too young to think of all the splits in human mind. She felt proud and helpless at the same time.

"So, what I gathered from my medical reading," Tim continued, "Dad's symptoms last summer could refer to a nervous breakdown, or not. Mostly not, because he can work and take care of people." Tim's mouth twitched ironically. "His darts records tell me that he can concentrate on will, and he can keep his frustration of losing to me under control. These are good signs."

Shelagh could only add a feeble comment: "You seem to have proper diagnostic criteria."

"So, I think, there is a lot of idle talk in this world. People are irritating, and wrong," Tim concluded, with a wince.

Shelagh decided to make a straight question, "Tim, was one of the girls talking idly Susan Parkin?"

Tim turned his eyes away. "Yes, she was. What you should perhaps know is that Jack Smith said kind words about Dad. He told them off, basically. Something about him being still the only sawbones he would go to." After a moment Tim added, "I like Jack."

Shelagh let the moment's pain pass before she continued tentatively, "I have seen Jack with Susan. I am so sorry for you, Tim."

"There isn't much to be sorry about, Mum," Tim said quietly. "If she prefers Jack, I can't help it. She was kind to Angela, though."

Shelagh smiled wanly. "Oh Tim, you learn so fast… the bitter lessons of life. "

Tim's eyes were bright again. "Yes, I do. Do you know what I am going to do next? I will learn the bassoon for the school orchestra."

"Why bassoon, Tim? Isn't there room for a violinist?"

"Yes, but I get to sit beside Caroline Gillespie, and a couple of other girls. The entire woodwind section ….is quite fabulous." He blushed a little, but seemed confident.

Shelagh laughed. "In that case, I strongly defend your choice of an instrument."

 ** _*Jane_** **_Austen:_** **_Emma_**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10. The sound of a bassoon.**

A horrendous noise of croaking reeds, with the strong echo of the sluice was blaring through the door. Patrick arrived at Shelagh's reception desk. "Good heavens. What is happening? Who's making that racket?"

"Oh, your precious first-born son," Shelagh said, trying to stifle her laugh. "He's learning to play the bassoon."

"Why?" Patrick inquired astonished. "Is there a school prize for that, or is he going to leave us and join an Army Band? Don't we feed him well enough?"

"Shhh, "Shelagh hissed. "He will hear you. The school orchestra woodwind section has a very presentable group of girls in it. Fabulous, he said. "

Patrick's mirth was released in a guffaw, and Shelagh again had to ask him to keep his voice down. Seeing him so happy made her delighted. She felt she should seize the day. "Patrick, dare I say something…."

Patrick sat down by her and beamed. "Please, do." Her face grew uncertain. He was once sober. "Oh, you are grieved. Tell me."

Shelagh had some trouble of expressing herself. "It is about some … gossip. Some time ago, Tim heard some of his mates speaking of your exhaustion last summer. "

Patrick nodded, with a sigh. "Yes. I know something about that. Didn't I tell you that I had a little talk with Tim when you were at hospital? I took your advice and told him a little of my…troubles." His posture tightened. Shelagh spread her arms around him. Patrick caught her hand on his shoulder. "Tim was very circumspect, though, and I didn't ask for details. Is it still disturbing him?"

"No. It took some time for him to process it. In the end, he seemed very rational and wise about it, really."

Shelagh stroke his shoulder. She hesitated how much she should say. "Even I have recently heard some of the ladies of Poplar gossiping about…you. Not much, not very distressing."

Patrick pressed her hand. "Poor you. The gossip mongers we will always have with us, I'm afraid. The local Doctor marrying a Nun. The local Doctor collapsing under strain. You would think they would judge us by our work here."

"Patrick, they do, they really do. Human nature just is what it is: we can't totally stop them talking. Tim also told that Jack Smith had defended you. He had said you are the only sawbones he would go to."

"That is good to hear, "Patrick chuckled, a bit sadly. "He's a nice lad. I saw him with some girl the other day."

"Oh yes, that is another story," Shelagh sighed.

"What other story? "

"It concerns Tim and that girl, but I don't think it's bothering him anymore."

Patrick looked at Shelagh whimsically. "Oh, should I be sad or glad about that?"

"Hard to say. Let's leave it at that."

The racket in the sluice had ended without them noticing it. Tim arrived in the hall carrying the bassoon box and commented crisply, "Don't mind me at all. I am going to the orchestra rehearsal; you can continue the mushy stuff."

Shelagh and Patrick hid their amusement and Shelagh cried after Tim: "Tell our regards to Caroline Gillespie!"

Patrick raised his eyebrows and asked, "Who is Caroline Gillespie?"

Tim didn't even turn around to quip: "I will tell you in a few years' time… at a pub."

Amid the laughter, Patrick conceded, "Okay, son. Keep your secrets."


End file.
